


Hela

by von_gikkingen



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: “Is there any chance I can convince you all you’re transporting is a corpse?” says Tivan.“That’s Odin’s daughter,” answers the Ravager, waving his hand in the direction of where body is stored. “Everyone knows the stories. Going gets tough, the king of Asgard decides it’s the perfect time to take a nap. But he always wakes up again...” he adds meaningfully.
Relationships: Hela/Taneleer Tivan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Defying Death

Hela was dead. She died with Asgard. The unspeakable powers she possessed, powers that made her a being only Odin himself had to power to bind, died with the world she drew them from. 

That’s how the story went. 

That’s how it ended. 

How could a fact that later, when the first scavengers arrived to pick apart the corpse of that once formidable empire, they found a body of a woman floating among the debris change that ending? 

They didn’t find Hela. Not the dreaded goddess, a being of bloodlust and wrath. There was not enough left of her to find. This woman, with dark hair and dark, lifeless eyes...? She was no goddess. She was what’s left behind when a goddess dies. 

“But someone would still pay for that, though, right?” spoke one of the crew, eager to do something about the oppressive silence hanging over them as they gathered around the body they just brought in from the cold vacuum.

A parody of mourners, this group of strangers most of whom still refused to believe what they were looking at. Having known her as nothing more than a scary story to tell in the all-encompassing darkness of space their minds rebelled at the idea of a real person behind it. She was never truly alive to them and now here they were, tasked with disposing of her body – and that was simply too bizarre a situation for them to know how to respond to. 

“We... we’re gonna sell this...?” frowns another crewmember in response. His uncertain expression mirrored on several faces around the cavernous space of their ship’s central chamber. 

“Aren’t we...? If it’s valuable we sell it. And this will be worth the price to someone.” 

“ _She_ ,” came a soft reply. “Not it. This was a person.” 

“Right. Asgardians are just people, aren’t they? That’s why they call themselves gods.”

“Don’t think they’re calling themselves that anymore,” comments someone. Words followed by murmurs of somewhat grim agreement. With the shattered remnants of the golden city of these so-called gods floating through the space around their ship who could disagree...? 

No one said it, not in so many words, but the decision was made all the same. They weren’t here for recreation, after all. They needed to cover their costs. Everything that could be sold was going to be sold. And everything most certainly included this deathly pale corpse of what was once one of the most formidable beings in the galaxy. 

“So we just... what? Look for the kind of weirdo that would want to put her under glass so he can admire her all day long...?” 

A groan emerges from one of their number almost before the words are all out, causing the rest to turn in his direction. 

“I know a weirdo like that. And I bet he would just love to add her to his collection.” 

*** 

“How much?” 

The words were spoken in a tone that told them to name their price. That let them know they will not shock their buyer no matter how high they go. 

Considering what it was he was buying from them – and how matter-of-fact he was about his desire to own it – it simply was not in their power to do anything he couldn’t take in his stride. Especially since, if the rumours were true, the white haired man before them just barely escaped a confrontation with the mad titan himself not a week ago. 

It was a very different galaxy in which they contacted the Collector. They were a bigger crew then. 

Too much has changed in the few so brief days since they originally contacted him. And yet here he was, in the agreed location, credits ready and clearly eager to claim the lifeless body of the Asgardian as his possession. 

Conducting their business only took a few moments but leaving his presence left them all immensely relieved. There was something about Taneleer Tivan that unsettled them. Something about the way he seemed unaffected by the event they didn’t know how to begin to recover from. As ancient as he was, as used to people dying while he went on, unchanged and ageless, it still made being in his presence a singularly unpleasant experience. One they were all eager to put behind them. 

Their part in this was over. It was a sheer accident that left them in possession of the body of the Asgardian and now that they made her someone else’s problem their role in the story was over. It was time to take their leave. To start forgetting this bizarre chapter of their lives. 

For all they knew things were about to get a whole lot stranger for the man who took the body off their hands. But that was not their problem, was it...?

*** 

“So when do you think she’s going to wake up...?” 

That completely unprompted question from the man he contracted to fly him to Sakaar leaves the Collector momentarily speechless. 

He hired this acquaintance of an acquaintance, the last surviving member of Udonta’s clan, because he gave the impression he could get the job done without ever realizing just how dangerous the job was. Kraglin suddenly – and surprisingly calmly – asking the question that was weighing so heavily on his own mind was the last thing he expected. 

“Is there any chance I can convince you all you’re transporting is a corpse?” says Tivan eventually. 

“That’s Odin’s daughter,” answers the Ravager, waving his hand in the direction of where body is stored. “Everyone knows the stories. Going gets tough, the king of Asgard decides it’s the perfect time to take a nap. But he _always_ wakes up again...” he adds meaningfully. 

“Stands to reason it runs in the family, doesn’t it?” Tivan finds himself replying. “If not I just paid a ridiculous amount for a corpse.” 

“A unique corpse.” 

The Collector smiles, immediately seeing what his travelling companion is driving at. “She would be a fine addition. If I still had a collection to add her to. But I have different plans for this one.” 

His eyes stray in the direction of his new acquisition, lost in the deep, death-like slumber only the true royalty of Asgard was known to descend into and emerge from again. It is entirely possible that in her sleep she hears every word they’re saying. In which case he better threads carefully. It would not do to upset the goddess of death... 

“How much do you know about Sakaar?” 

The Ravager frowns at what must seem to him an abrupt change of subject. “Crazy place. All those wormholes should tear it apart. Heard they get some real weird time dilations from the rest of the galaxy.”

“They do. But that’s the least of their problems. The man in charge is a deluded, self-styled god emperor who’s constantly giving everyone excuses to want to overthrow him. A calamity more than a person,” says Tivan with possibly too much feeling. Not that he’s ever able to discuss his brother in a tone that doesn’t immediately give the punchline away... 

Given the look on Kraglin’s face he once again said all he needed to say to reveal the sad fact he was related to the hedonistic idiot ruling over Sakaar. “So...” says the pilot, stretching out the syllable while he’s choosing his next words, “you have to bribe your brother to let you stay in his place...?” 

“Let’s just say that I’d rather not rely on his hospitality,” he shrugs. “He’ll probably be far happier to see her than me.” 

“She _is_ a pretty sight to be fair.” 

"Yes," agrees the Collector, "she is, isn't she...?" 

*** 

“It would appear my brother has been feeling quite the antipathy towards the people of Asgard recently,” says Tivan as he strolls back aboard the ship. Some two days after he said he’ll be back and looking a lot worse for wear. 

This would be the moment to let his employer know he does not appreciate being left alone with what is either a corpse or something far scarier, but Kraglin resists. It’s just so much harder to lose patience with people now, after what happened. Even people that do deserve it. “So...” he says instead, making the word into a question. Letting the other man know that he's waiting for instructions. 

Instructions his current employer is slow to offer because he does not know what to do here, going by his expression. 

“I should probably find a place to keep her,” frowns Tivan, slowly walking over to the part of the ship occupied by the Asgardian woman. Deathly pale. Nearly indistinguishable from dead – and yet, as he leans over her to study this one thing he never imagined he’d be able to collect the idea of her being gone is simply impossible to take seriously. 

Asleep. Merely asleep. Deathlike in her slumber but how does that make her any different from the former king of Asgard? He always came back from his _Odin sleep_ and so will she. 

And she’ll be a force to be reckoned with even if she feels inclined to be grateful to him for transporting her someplace relatively safe. 

Tivan didn’t survive through the eons by making mistakes born of overconfidence. There were forces in this universe even someone of his species couldn’t underestimate. The only reason he lived to see this garbage heap of a planet was because he knew to flee rather than face the mad titan. Attempting to fight him over the infinity stone that was not so long ago in his possession would have been suicide. Doing anything to offend this formidable woman once she regained consciousness would be just as dangerous. 

The good news was he might have years to prepare for that. Decades, possibly. Time enough to form contingency plans. There might not be any obvious reason for her to become his enemy but it didn’t do to dismiss the possibility completely. The unexpected had a way of happening, making no concessions for anyone’s plans.

“It would be best for her to awaken in a place like this. I don’t imagine she’d be particularly pleased, coming back to the universe as it is now. At least on Sakaar she’ll have plenty of adversaries to take it out on,” says Tivan slowly, merely thinking out loud, having still nothing like a plan of action. Then, after another long, thoughtful second spent studying the sleeping woman, he adds, “And by then my brother will forget all about his antipathy for Asgardians. He never had the kind of attention span that would allow him to hold grudges.” 

“So that’s settled then?” asks Kraglin. “You’re staying? Both of you?”

“And you get to return to the civilized parts of the galaxy,” says his employer, clearly picking up on it being the thing he wants to hear. Because there’s nothing wrong with Sakaar. Nice place to visit. But who in their right mind would want to live there...?

***

There should have been silence. After a battle against such unspeakable an opponent there should have been nothing beyond blackness and softly fading memory of the arcane fire that in the end even she couldn’t withstand. 

She should have been writing the ending to her story in that last moment of bloodlust, a perfect expression of what she’s been becoming over centuries, on too many battlefields to count. 

That’s how their kind was supposed to leave this universe. Losing their lives in a battle. One that made them give everything they had. 

And she gave everything. The planet underneath her feet was torn apart by the force of her fury. 

It wasn’t Surtur that was the death of Asgard. _She_ was. 

Death. They called her that often enough for the word to become all she knew how to be. And now she killed a world, one that she so long ago called home. Wasn’t that a fitting ending to her life? Was she not entitled to her story ending there, in one last act of joyful destruction...? 

But the blackness she now existed in told her that was not to be. This was not the end of her. In this place outside of time she could still hear her heart, beating a slow, patient rhythm. A heart of a sleeper, still holding on to the world. Keeping death at bay with every nearly imperceptible movement. Renewing her so she can rejoin the living. Whether she wanted to or not... 

And did she want to? There was nothing but time and questions in this darkness and she did find herself asking them all. None was harder to answer than that one. Did she want to open her eyes again? Face the universe again, the enormity of it, the ultimate pointlessness of it... Was this sleep that kept her alive something to be grateful for or was it a curse? 

She did not know.

A thousand glacially slow heartbeats brought her to the brink of waking and still she did not know. 

And the universe did _not_ care. 

Whether she wanted to live or craved the peace only death could bring, she never got a say. 

*** 

“You must have questions.” 

The words are spoken softly. The owner of the voice clearly doing his best not to startle her. Someone who _knows_ , then. Someone who understands how improbable it is for her to be able to open her eyes again. 

“They found you in the ruins of Asgard,” continues the man. A stranger, but one whose expression immediately tells her she is not a stranger to him. He’ll have nothing but carefully chosen words to offer her in these confusing first moments of wakefulness following her healing sleep – not daring to say anything that might upset her. 

It’s almost comforting to know she still commands fear. Fear is good. She knows where she is with people who are terrified of her... 

“You’re on a world called Sakaar. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it,” he adds in the next breath, seeing her blank expression. “If only I could say the same...” 

He tells her then. Tells her what to expect of the galaxy she finds herself in now. This very changed place. This half-annihilated remnant of what used to be.

Hearing that makes her own act of destruction seem so small in comparison. Whatever she was, she was no mad titan. “You wouldn’t lie about that, would you...?” she asks. Just to be saying something. Just to be able to interrupt him in telling this story she finds she doesn’t want to hear any more of... 

“Lie,” repeats the white haired man, taken aback by the very idea. “Who would dare to lie to the goddess of death?” 

She closes her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Who are you...?” she asks eventually, wondering if a name will make any difference at all. 

It does. 

It’s one she recognises. One that tells her another story. “Who would dare to try to add the goddess of death among the trinkets in his collection...?” she asks him, her tone amused. Dangerously so. 

“Not me,” says Tivan. Meeting her eyes. And she finds she can’t find no lie in his. 

“Then I owe you my gratitude,” she says, breaking the eyecontact at last. 

And that’s where it should have ended. That’s all that needed to be said between them in this moment, so soon after her waking. So why did he have to add, “You owe me nothing. Every last life is precious now. Every one worth preserving. To do nothing as you slipped away into death? That would be... unthinkable.” 

There is emotion behind the words, something only the people that lived through the desolation Thanos wrought could feel. Something beyond horror, beyond heartbreak. 

Death, as close as she came to experiencing it, didn’t change her, not the way this man has been changed. Every single person that lived while the rest perished has been changed the same way, she was certain. She knew nothing of death. The survivors of this horrific event knew things she never could comprehend... 

She could curse it then, this ability she inherited from her father. The sleep that stole her death from her. On the battlefield, where her story should have ended. Instead she got this. A broken universe full of broken people. One where every last life was precious. How could she be anything but a pariah in a world like that...? 

No. She never should have woken up. 


	2. Embracing life

Sakaar, for all its reputation, offered her no distractions from the quiet misery she felt when confronted with being alive. It has become a bleak place with heavy silence settled over it. What was left of its multitudes aimlessly wandered the streets, their voices hushed if not gone altogether. No one dared speak too loudly. No one dared to do much more than just exist, lifeless, haunted, putting one foot in front of the other out of the force of habit. 

Hela rarely left this place, the opulent apartment Tivan has provided for her. It was unthinkable to brave the streets bellow. She always felt herself a creature apart from others but it has been never as true as now, when the whole world felt the same grief, one she was unable to share in. It did horrify her, this thing that happened, this unspeakable loss of life. And still she was not touched by it as they were. There was no one she had to watch crumble into dust right before her eyes, powerless to do anything but witness the senseless death. She didn’t feel it as they did, as some bleeding wound that would never close. 

She wished she knew how to keep her thoughts from forever lingering on the events that took place while she was lost in her slumber. But there was nothing on this world that once offered so many distractions to keep her from these thoughts. Life has lost so much that has made it worth all the pain it so often brought with it. Now only the pain remained, only the horror of being a living, breathing thing in a universe that did not care. 

“You don’t seem to like what you see down there,” comes Tivan’s voice from the other side of the room. “Yet I always find you by the windows, watching them.”

She never even noticed his return. But then she hardly paid much attention to his comings and goings. It mattered little to her where he went when he wasn’t here, even as she knew him for her only connection to the living. He was all she had, this being far older than her whole bloodline. 

“Do you?” she asks. “Like what you see when you walk among them?” 

“I never liked it. Or disliked it. What am I to feel about such short-lived creatures? They’re gone before I ever had time to notice them,” he says, coming to stand beside her. To take in the sight of Sakaaran streets bellow. “So few are unique enough to command my attention.” 

She says nothing, not surprised to hear him voice such a sentiment. It is only understandable. She felt very much the same way about the brief lives of the Midgardians her father insisted it was their duty to protect. 

But that was when she could feel. More and more she finds herself wondering what exactly happened to her in that long, deep sleep. Feeling that, while lost in it, it has been all stripped away from her – her anger, the feeling of betrayal that burned in her through the centuries of her imprisonment, all the violent desires that made her the warrior she was.

All those raw, powerful emotions, faded like a dream.

She didn’t feel like herself since she woke up. The goddess of death was gone. Never to return, never to take another life, to delight in violence, to laugh at her enemies. There was nothing in this world that made her feel anything even close to the intense, dark emotions that were once at the core of her. Only blankness looked back at her when she torn her gaze from the milling crowd bellow and met the eyes of her reflection. 

“Do you ever consider leaving this place to go walk among them yourself?” asks Tivan, perhaps misunderstanding her silence. 

She just shakes her head, dismissing the idea. What could be found on those streets that could replace the emptiness within? 

“Leaving is not the answer,” she tells him in a quiet, weary voice. And reaches a hand to catch him by the shoulder when he takes the word to mean their conversation is at an end and turns to go. 

“Is there something I can...” he starts to ask. 

“Yes,” she replies, realizing there is. 

Maybe they were different from the multitude of beings going through the motions of living, twisted into something unnatural under the weight of centuries. But that didn’t make them disconnected from life, neither of them. The things the mortals ones craved were not unknown to her and she doubted Tivan was any different. “Follow,” she tells him as she turns away from the window and starts heading for her bedroom. 

Not being mad enough to dare disobey the goddess of death he does, the sound of his hesitant footsteps telling her as much. Startled by what she’s suggesting still he follows. Still he does what he always does – whatever it takes not to anger her. 

She almost considers telling him then, about not being the creature he fears her to be. About how much of her power came from the arcane forces within Asgard. All gone now. She was only as formidable as anyone of her species was, no more. Telling him that would bring on a change, she knew. There would be no more obedience, no more studying her for any sign of displeasure. 

“My lady...” he says uncertainly as she walks into the room dominated by an oversized bed. And just by the sound of his voice she knows he stopped short of crossing the threshold. 

“You call me that,” she says, shaking her head in wonder. “Do I strike you as ladylike?” 

“As royalty,” he replies. 

She stays with her back to him, saying nothing more as she waits for him to come closer. To come as near as he dares. 

Eyes downcast, she slowly, lazily, works on undoing the clasps holding her tunic closed. The clothes she’s been wearing since she opened her eyes again are far less form-fitting than the armour she worn for so long, that arcane creation hugging her like a second skin. Now she was clad in mere fabric. It was not going to respond to her slightest thought. These clothes will take effort to remove. But she doesn’t find herself too impatient for the task for once, almost enjoying how it gives her fingers something to do. 

And then, with no warning, it’s not just her fingers that are on the task. His arms close around her without her ever hearing him move. Clasps coming open one after another, leaving her breasts half-exposed within seconds. And then he’s pulling at the fabric of the tunic, slipping it from her shoulders – an action with no hesitation behind it. 

It should end there. He should wait for her to tell him what to do next, after all the care he always took not to make the slightest move that might provoke her. It should not be gone in a single instance, that unease. So why does it feel like there is nothing less than certainty that she’s his to touch in the way he pulls her against him...? Why does the way he brushes her hair out of the way so he can press his lips against the back of her neck leave _her_ uneasy? 

Is it because she had expectations when she told him to follow? Expectations based on how he treated her ever since she came back from the brink of death. She has been someone who was to be appeased at any cost. Someone to be obeyed. Perhaps she expected to remain that person even as she chose to change the rules between them. 

Was submission what she desired? Was that _all_ she desired when she spoke the words...? 

Even as not a word passes between them, she knows she’s in for a disappointment if that is the case. Because for all the deference he once showed her he was not going to be acting in such a manner now. Not in this. Not after she made it clear he can have her. 

The way his hands wander over old battlescars tell her there is nothing she can do to stop them short of seizing them. What little have been spoken between them still let him understand he has been granted the freedom to touch her in whichever way he pleased. And there is no telling what would happen if she tried to seize control of the moment. If she told him to kneel, would she be disobeyed? Or would he ignore the command even as he continued to handle her flesh with the assurance of a man who knows it is all his to do with as he pleases...? 

She turns to face him, not meeting his eyes even as she starts to undress him. Because whatever answers those questions have there is no finding them without further committing to this. Without letting this thing she put in motion reach whatever conclusion it’s headed for. 

*** 

She opens her eyes to the imperfect darkness of Sakaar, forever tainted by one kind of luminosity or another. The sky above this place seems to be on fire whether it’s day or night. There’s always light to see by, somehow. An eldritch kind of light illuminating this moment, one that can be anything from the mid-point of the night to the last bleak hour before the morning breaks. 

Light enough to see by and what she sees is the man beside her in the bed, lost in deep sleep of those overcome by exhaustion. 

There is a distance between them and she does not think she’ll be crossing it. She’ll let him be just a silhouette outlined in the gloom rather than a body pressed to hers, warming her flesh. 

Remaining where she is she takes stock of what her body is telling her. There is a soreness she knows won’t fade from her muscles easily and something that’s almost ache deep within her. Not a result of any roughness on his part, simply a consequence of the intensity their coupling reached, time and again. The nearly painful friction of it. 

Still half-asleep she looks back at what left her both aching and satisfied. Asking herself all the questions there was no asking in the moment, as her body acted with a will of its own. It is only now that she has time to wonder if she got what she wanted from the man sleeping beside her. Did something in his touch help to banish that all-enveloping apathy that replaced all she once felt?

The answer comes as an unbidden memory and she finds herself smiling in the strange gloom. 

He called her a goddess. Time and again he said the word. And hearing it she _did_ feel something. The way his eyes let her know that her yielding to him, letting him have her in any way he pleased, was not making her any less divine a creature... It brought a real smile to her lips for a moment. Made her more herself than she hoped to ever be again. 

There was a difference between surviving death and rejoining the living. Hela didn’t think there was any hope for her to do that, no matter how many centuries lay ahead of her. But last night, just for a moment, something made her less certain. Some small part of her that still knew how to find joy in living has returned to her, even if just for a moment. 

And next time it could be a smile that actually stayed on her lips rather than fled after just a single heartbeat. 

Of course that depended on the man whose sleeping form she watched through the eerie light of this strange hour. In many ways more than she bargained for and yet there was no regret in her as she thought back to that almost thoughtless decision to lead him into her bedroom. 

She was rewarded for doing so and in ways that made regret an impossibility.

Many have called her a goddess – but he knew how to make her feel like one. If that was not something worth having she didn’t know what was.


End file.
